


If I’m going to run, I might as well walk

by Kiss_Shining



Category: Dragon Ball, Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light-Hearted, Mental Health Issues, Offhand Fic, Out of Character, Violence, sort of a fix-it but not quite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 06:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20372578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiss_Shining/pseuds/Kiss_Shining
Summary: “So, where did you come from?”“I appeared right out of thin air,” Sojiro cheerfully replied, smiling. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Piccolo?”Everyone’s eyes turned expectantly to Piccolo, waiting for some sort of explanation, but he only let out a terse grunt. He had no desire to feed their pointless curiosity.





	If I’m going to run, I might as well walk

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, this is just a crack pair that came to me after some events led me to watching Sojiro’s breakdown scene again. It was so good, and you can really see the quality 1990s anime had (which is why it’s so important to give older anime series a try). I couldn’t decide on whether or not I should have Piccolo or Vegeta with Sojiro because their personalities are fairly close, but the difference in probability is what won out. There’s no way Vegeta would ever seek out someone unless he felt they were worth his time.
> 
> OOC tags to be safe.

At daybreak, Seta Sojiro’s gaze met with a dilapidated ceiling, the stars faintly winking at him through the tiny holes above. His eyes lowered and searched, and he saw a modest speckled blanket covering his room and the next, and wooden frames that led to endless greenery and a lifetime’s worth of crops. A crow cried in the distance, but its voice went unheard to most of the sleeping villagers. Sojiro sighed, his shoulders slumping a tad.

He was in Yamagata Prefecture in a small rural area in northern Japan. He wasn’t _there_ anymore. But after the Battousai had defeated him and shattered all of the ideals that he knew, the voids of his conscious viciously reminded him. Oh, he always knew what he was and where he came from, but it was nothing more than a passing memory in the back of his mind, similar to Senkaku’s death or the failed Kyoto project. But after that day, Sojiro perpetually dreamt of thunderstorms and horrified screams. He dreamt of the putrid smell of blood and indiscriminate bodies that was sprawled against the dainty marble. He dreamt of his prized wakizashi that he had given back to Lord Shishio, his guardian and mentor. And he dreamt of salt that was washed away amidst the rain.

Sojiro touched his cheeks, and they were dry. His fingers passed over his lips, and they were upturned. A small sense of satisfaction swelled within him, although it wasn’t enough to remove the haze of discomfort that lulled over him. But that discomfort was nothing new. He shrugged it off with an even brighter smile.

“Well,” he said to himself, “I guess it’s time to go.”

He stretched, feeling a bit more alert, and he crawled out of his cot, grabbing his bucket, clothes, and sword before he left the room provided for him. By the time that he was done cleaning himself and putting on his clothes, the villagers had just begun to stir about. They called out to him like they always did, and he gave them a small little wave. One of them noticed that he had his small pack of condiments slung across one shoulder, and she beckoned him closer.

“Already up so soon I see, young man,” she greeted as he came near. “On another journey?”

“Yup! If you happen to see her, please thank Granny for letting me stay. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll do my best to bring back souvenirs.”

She chuckled, patting him on the back. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing. Now you be careful out there. The government’s been rather fussy about carrying swords nowadays, especially after all the chaos. And now with all of this foreign drama…” she trailed off with a hard frown. “I wouldn’t want you to get caught up in that. But if anything happens, you be sure to get ahold of us, you hear? Oh yes, before you leave, let me give you something.”

The elderly woman quickly retreated, and other villagers took her place. Once the few possessions he had disappeared from the shelter, word had quickly got around that Sojiro was leaving, and they used every opportunity they had to saddle him with fruits, vegetables, sweets, spare clothing, and anything else that they thought he might need on his journey. By the time the elderly woman returned, his pack was filled to the brim with an assortment of gifts that would last him for weeks. She laughed, adding her own little bag of food into his awaiting hands.

It was just past the hour of the dragon when he left Minamiyama. Just further north was Okura, and around Okura was a wonderful hot springs that supposedly soothed the mind and soul. It would take a while, maybe a few days if he travelled at a leisurely pace, but it would be well-worth the trip. After that, well…he supposed Nikaho was a better place than any to settle down for a while.

For the next week, Sojiro trudged through miles and miles of uncut grassy fields, slept in treetops, and lazily chewed on candies to keep himself occupied. Bandits were as frequent as the shibazakura flowers that grew around Motosuko Lake, and while he was plenty pleased with keeping his skills sharp, it was a bit troublesome; he was so used to killing his opponents on Lord Shishio’s command that now that he had to think for himself, he often found himself lost.

Occasionally, he would come across travelers like himself, and he would eagerly listen to the stories they told him of their adventures. Every so often, they would tell him about the new order that developed after Shishio’s attempted reign, a fact that laid in the back of people’s minds like a rattlesnake about to strike. They commiserated over the overabundance of foreign powers and trade. The religion was enough, they would mutter, and they would turn to Sojiro, expecting him to vehemently agree. But Sojiro only smiled; to him, it didn’t really matter what happened to Japan.

When he finally reached Okura, he came across a mystic in passing. He bumped into her shoulder, and he gave her a brief apology before he walked away. But she called out to him.

“You there, young man. Yes, you.”

Sojiro turned around. The mystic stared at him, giving him a once over before nodding to herself.

“Yes?”

“You’ve been looking for something, haven’t you?” She stepped a bit closer, right until she was close enough to gaze into his eyes. His azure eyes gazed right back at her.

“Come with me. I can help you find what you’re looking for.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Sojiro said, holding his hands up. “Besides, I don’t have money.” He turned his pockets inside-out. “See?”

She scoffed. “Who says I want money? Now come along, time is short.” She began to walk back where she came from, glancing over her shoulder to see that he was following. After she was sure that Sojiro was right behind her, she shuffled half-way across the bustling village to a small shack made of wood and surrounded by pale, lopsided stones. She parted two home-made quilts to reveal a dimly lit room with candles and incense. Nodding once more, she dug into the pouch on her hip and bent down, drawing a large circle with unfamiliar symbols and words. Once she was done, she sat in the midst of flickering candles.

“What you search for cannot easily be discerned here. But it can be found in another place. Stand in the middle of that circle. No, it’s not a trap, young man; I’m only here as a guide to help those in need. If fate has brought you and me together, then it is my duty to assist you in any way that I can. Now stand right there.”

After a touch of hesitance, he stepped into the circle, his hand lazily splayed across the sword on his hip. If it did go wrong or she did mean ill-will towards him, then it was alright. At this point, he had nothing to lose. He was nothing more than a wanderer without a home or a place. Lord Shishio, Miss Yumi, and the rest of the Juppongatana were either dead or scattered, and he didn’t see a need to align himself with the police like some of them have. If he died right here and now, then he would join the rest of his comrades in hell. That thought was a small comfort at the very least.

“What are you going to do?”

“Have you heard of astro-projection? Separating the soul out of the physical body? It’ll be a bit different, but it’s along the same practice.” She closed her eyes and clapped her hands three times. “Any other questions before we begin? No? Then I’ll start.”

She began to chant, moving her fingers to create different symbols, and the circle underneath Sojiro’s feet began to shine with a brilliant alabaster. He shielded his eyes and finally closed them. There was something pulling on his chest, and he felt as if he was drowning in the past again, overcome by fear of the unknown, of the uncertain. But like a balloon with too much water, it exploded, and nothing remained but fatigue.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was in an unfamiliar forest, surrounded by vibrant wildlife and towering dinosaurs.

* * *

In the few days that Sojiro camped in the forest, he learned two things.

One: he was most likely not in Okura anymore—if not Japan. He wasn’t sure where he was, actually; triceratops and stegosaurus were supposed to be extinct several million years ago, but there they were now, peacefully trotting in the forest, completely oblivious to him, almost as if mankind hadn’t left its mark yet. But he had taken a look around and he knew that there were people somewhere in this area. Not everything remained untouched: there was a strange, pale dune in the middle of an open field. It looked as though it crashed into the ground and lodged itself into the dirt, and upon closer inspection, it was a type of technology that far exceeded anything that he had seen in Japan or any other area. Even China hadn’t created a ship like this, and Europe much less. It was functional too; the moment that he walked up to it, it opened right up for him, leading to a dark hole that travelled several feet underground. Sojiro was curious, but he wouldn’t step into a minefield blindfolded. Perhaps if Sir Houji were here, he would know what to do.

Two: There was something following him. He wasn’t sure if it was human, but it possessed an intelligence. He thought he might have caught a glimpse of whatever it was when he walked back to his make-shift camping tent, but there was nothing. It always disappeared if he turned his head a bit too far, or if he stirred a bit too quickly. It was fun trying to discern what it was, but after the seventh consecutive day of it watching him, he decided to call out to it.

“Isn’t it boring to watch me all day?” He smiled in its direction, one hand absent-mindedly tracing the handle of his sword as he stood up from the grass, patting his backside with the other hand. “Or maybe not. But it _is_ rather inconvenient for me, so I’d greatly appreciate it if you came out already.”

Sojiro was expecting to see many things: a wild animal, at the very least, and perhaps an inhabitant of the forest at the very most. Instead, what he saw was a strange creature that appeared scarily similar to those fictional extraterrestrial aliens that he had read about in the National Library: he had green skin, pointy ears, sharp eyes, and a white and purple turban on his head. His clothes were unlike anything Sojiro had seen either, not baring a resemblance to any country he had seen in the past, and he gasped.

“Oh! I wasn’t quite expecting that.” He lowered his head slightly and leaned forward, curious. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The strange creature huffed, folding his arms together.

“Would I have responded to you if I didn’t?”

“You’re right,” Sojiro said, giggling. “Then were you watching me because I’m on your territory? I can leave if you like.”

“Not without some answers,” the alien retorted, and he stood straight, his obsidian eyes searching Sojiro’s face. “What business do you have on this planet?”

“Business? Well…I don’t have any, I suppose.” Sojiro tilted his head thoughtfully. “I was in Okura Village and then I was sent here by a spiritualist. So I’m just traveling for now. Say, would you happen to know where I am right now?”

“I’m the one asking the questions,” he snapped, and Sojiro quickly held up his hands in capitulation. “Now, who are you and why were you sent here?”

If Sojiro wanted, he could have knocked out this person. He could tell that this person was strong even though he didn’t possess a weapon, but Sojiro was slightly stronger. If he caught him off guard, he might be able to slip away and run to somewhere where he wasn’t guaranteed to be interrogated. Ah, but it was in bad taste to run from a confrontation he could handle, wasn’t it?

After a moment, he made up his mind. Maybe it’s because he hadn’t seen anyone for days, but he wanted to play along and see where it got him. So he gave him frivolous truths: he told him his name, his status as a wanderer, and his desire to learn more about the world. That was what got him here, he explained, and the alien was finally placated, the stern lines between his brows softening and cooling. It was then he was willing to answer some of Sojiro’s questions, although he still had an air of suspicion around him. Sojiro learned that he was in a forest not too far from a place called Namu Village, and that there was no such country called “Japan.”

For that matter, there weren’t_ any_ countries on this planet, only cities, towns, and villages. It was such a drastic change from where he was from that Sojiro really was curious about this Earth. He never knew that the same planet could have such different circumstances. He wondered if this person would let him leave so he could find out more about it.

“No. You’re coming with me.” He began to levitate, staring at Sojiro with a raised eyebrow and a hint of impatience, almost as if it were perfectly normal for human beings to fly in the air. Maybe on this planet it was. But Sojiro wasn’t feeling any different than before he came here, so he doubted that he inherited that ability.

“I can’t fly, sir,” Sojiro said, and the alien snorted. He closed his eyes, and with the speed of six horseman, Sojiro was floating in mid-air. He wasn’t able to control it, and he laughed instinctively, his hand tightening on his sword, but the alien seemed satisfied. Like a bag of luggage, Sojiro was dragged high into the sky until he was well above the clouds, floating past an old cat on two legs holding a cane and a portly young man, and he wondered for a moment if he was flying head-first into his death.

They finally stopped at a strange structure with the shape of an inverted cone, a serene building sitting firmly intact despite the only thing keeping the entire infrastructure afloat was a small pole that extended for miles. They both landed, and two people came rushing towards them: a young boy who looked strikingly similar to the alien next to him, and an older, plump man with onyx-toned skin, wide eyes, and a toothy grin. They appeared just as strange as the man next to him, but they were friendlier, amicable enough to volunteer their names and, as he learned from Sir Dende, Piccolo’s as well.

From that day onwards, Sojiro was forbidden to leave Mr. Piccolo’s side. But Sojiro was perfectly fine with that. There was something about Mr. Piccolo that, despite first appearances, felt oddly familiar to him.

* * *

Three months have passed since Sojiro was essentially kidnapped and detained in the Lookout.

If Sojiro was another person, maybe he would have went crazy with terror. He was in a foreign place surrounded by foreign people on a platform several hundred thousand feet above sea level with no way of escape. But he wasn’t other people. He had already stared death in the face, smiled at suffering, and survived his demons. He served under a person who was, before his death, one of the most powerful and ruthless men in Japan. He was dispatched on extermination missions to the most gruesome of places and completed enough assassinations to rival the Battousai himself. Being held captive in a relatively peaceful place for several months at a time was nothing to him.

The company was pleasant as well. Sir Dende fed him rosy-colored stories about magic balls that could resurrect people and a man who saved the world a dozen times over, and he taught him the basics of how to fly. Mr. Popo wasn’t bad company, either. He was very good with his hands; he taught Sojiro how to sculpt and paint, luxuries that were lost to him in his childhood.

But after all, Mr. Piccolo was the person that he stayed with the most even without the caveat he set in place. It took a while, but when Sojiro realized why Mr. Piccolo was so familiar to him, he couldn’t help but laugh to himself. After his new discovery, he visited the Namekian at atypical hours with pearly teeth and a mouthful of stories about his journey, and despite his cool exterior, Mr. Piccolo began to tolerate his impromptu visits as well.

Sojiro was so sure that he knew him well, and he also knew he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover—he usually doesn’t, but some of Mr. Piccolo’s mannerisms fondly reminded him of Lord Shishio’s and just couldn’t help himself—which was why he was taken aback when, one day, Mr. Piccolo said that he was running an errand for someone _else_. From the way that Sir Dende and Mr. Popo always extended an inordinate amount of respect to Mr. Piccolo, Sojiro had figured that he had a high amount stature himself. And since King Furry, the King of Earth himself, also deferred to Mr. Piccolo and Sir Dende, Sojiro had figured that he was a man who answered to no one. But he was wrong.

“Where are we going, Mr. Piccolo?”

“To a friend’s house,” he said, and he picked Sojiro up by the scruff of his collar, a new tendency of his. They flew there at a leisurely pace, and he was fortunate enough to witness a beautiful view of the mountains that he would have traversed alone had he not been abducted. Pterosaurs flew above and around them, and in his awe, he was gently reminded of how different this world was from the one he knew. The world that was marred by wars, political power struggles, human trafficking, and irreversible corruption. He speculated what kind of person he would have turned out to be had he grew up on this planet, surrounded by villagers not unlike those he stayed with in Minamiyama.

They descended in front of a large mansion that reminded Sojiro of the fortress that Lord Shishio had built on Mount Hiei, and he stared at it in awe. After a tick, a young man greeted Piccolo, warmly welcoming him inside before he turned to Sojiro in an afterthought. He introduced himself as Gohan—an oddly Japanese-sounding name, perhaps an indication that Sojiro’s culture existed in some form on this planet—and held his hand out in greeting. Sojiro returned it, smiling.

When Sir Gohan and his wife left Mr. Piccolo retreated further inside, and Sojiro dutifully followed his footsteps. His eyes wandered to the plenitude of photographs bolted on the walls: pictures of Sir Gohan himself, Miss Videl, two other males, both remarkably similar to each other in appearance, a scowling man with hair similar to Mr. Chou, a blue-haired woman and a purple-haired child, and Mr. Piccolo, who stood off to the far left. There weren’t that many pictures with him in it, but those photos were hung in strategic places: in the living room, before the staircase of the first floor, by the entrance, and standing proudly on a wall that was parallel to one of the rooms that Sojiro suspected was Sir Gohan’s.

Mr. Piccolo finally stopped at a room, opening the door quietly, and it took Sojiro a moment to register what he was looking at. He giggled, and then he snorted, covering his mouth a moment a tad too late. But Mr. Piccolo’s ears already twitched, and his neck was beginning to redden with embarrassment. What made it worse was when he picked up the baby in the cradle and began to awkwardly rock her, clearly unsure of how to take care of a child. He burst out in a fit of laughter, and at Mr. Piccolo’s glare, he stopped, fanning himself.

“I’m sorry about that,” he sighed, still shaking from laughter. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be a baby-sitter of all things. A baby-sitter…”

“_Oi_.”

“No, no, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s just so…” Absurd? Ridiculous? Completely unexpected? Outrageous to the point of blatant stupidity? “Cute. Really cute. Here, let me show you how to do it.” Resting his sword against the stand of the night lamp next to him, he came a bit closer to the fussing girl, extending his hands out. “May I?”

The alien searched his face for a moment, and Sojiro let him. Even if he did have less than savory intentions towards this child, Mr. Piccolo wouldn’t find it just by looking at him. But then again, maybe that was why it took him so long to trust Sojiro to do anything besides breathe. Mr. Piccolo must have saw something that he liked, though, because he gave him a curt nod and slowly placed the girl in his hands, his eyes not once straying from his face. Sojiro’s smile remained stagnant, and the Namekian finally huffed, folding his arms and moving back once.

“Go on then, kid,” he grumbled, and Sojiro rocked her in his arms rhythmically, cooing until her fussing softened into small babbles and smacking sounds. After a very short while, she finally fell asleep.

“I see a lot of mothers do this to their children, and it seems to work,” Sojiro explained, handing the child back to him. “But Mr. Piccolo, you could order someone else to do this, can’t you? Why would you do it yourself?”

“Is there something wrong with me doing this?”

“No, not at all! I just didn’t think that—well, I didn’t think that you would follow through on your word.”

“So you think I’m untrustworthy, then.”

“I just didn’t think you were the type of person to take care of a child like this. You’re evil, aren’t you?” Sojiro’s narrow-eyed smile widened at his suspicious reticence, knowing that he was every bit uncomfortable with being confronted about something that was most likely buried in the past. “You reminded me of someone who was very dear to me. He was evil too—he wanted to take over an entire country and he killed a lot of people to do it. I was his right-hand man, so you could say I’m evil as well. And who identifies evil better than evil?”

“…you don’t have to be evil if you don’t want to be, kid.”

“So I’m told,” Sojiro answered, his smile dropping a bit, remembering the last time he heard those words. “But that still doesn’t answer my question. I mean, I just don’t get it. You seem powerful enough to take on this entire continent. I’ve never seen you fight, but I can tell. And I can also tell that you’ve taken a lot of lives, just like I have. So why?”

Mr. Piccolo sighed, placing the slumbering girl back in her crib. He left the nursery room without another word, beckoning Sojiro with a crook of his nail, and Sojiro followed, grabbing his sword and strapping it back on his waist. They finally stopped in the kitchen, and as Mr. Piccolo began to prepare a formula for the infant, he answered.

“I wanted to take over Earth a long time ago,” he said, “But I was stopped by Gohan’s father. And he eventually became so strong that I couldn’t hope to try again.”

Sojiro leaned over his shoulder. “What if I were to help you?”

Mr. Piccolo snorted. “You’re strong kid, but you couldn’t lay a finger on Goku, not as strong as he’s gotten. No human can best a Saiyan.”

“He dies like every other being,” Sojiro retorted, “and he probably has a heart just like every other warm-blooded mammal. I’m fast, so if you take him off guard, then—”

“There are more reasons than a silly power gap why I wouldn’t do that.”

“Is it because of Sir Gohan?” Sojiro knew it was the case when his green fingers paused for a moment. “You don’t want to hurt him. His father is the main reason why you stopped, but you became complacent because of him. Then what’s stopping you from killing all of the other threats first?”

“It’s not right.”

“But _why_ isn’t it right?”

Mr. Piccolo opened his mouth, and then he promptly closed it back, frowning. He reached out and touched the middle of Sojiro’s forehead.

“You know why. It’s written all over your face.”

He took the bottle on the counter and left Sojiro alone in the kitchen. Once he left, Sojiro slowly brought his fingers to his lips. Like he thought, they were still upturned just like they had always been, and when he raised his hand a bit and rubbed his cheeks, they were dry like they were supposed to be. He rested his palm to his forehead, and he felt nothing. But for some reason, he felt so disgustingly prickly. He felt prickly and vulnerable and small, and his skin began to crawl. His chest began to pull viciously and he brought a trembling palm to it, grinding the pain away. He wasn’t sure what he looked like right now, but he felt his eyes twitching slightly. He rubbed his partially clothed hand over them.

So in the end, emotions were what changed Mr. Piccolo. Mr. Piccolo was once a tyrant, but he was beaten and domesticated by love. Love, joy, happiness, fragility—Sojiro didn’t have any of those emotions; he was nothing more than a black hole, fed by the shadows of his past, the blood on his hands. The change that Mr. Piccolo had the ability to make that made him satisfied and whole was a change that Sojiro would never be able to do.

He regained his senses and smiled so wide that he thought his face would crack.

* * *

Ever since he came from Sir Gohan’s mansion, Sojiro hated to sleep.

His shadows already threatened to consume him whole: he saw the contorted faces of his step-uncle and his grandmother, the taunting faces of the rest of his family members that had jeered and mocked him when he tripped over his own bare feet, carrying bucket after bucket of rice at dusk. He saw their aghast faces drowning in the rain and the dirt, their filthy blood pooling around their bodies, the thunderstorm lighting their corpses anew. And now he heard the sounds of sobbing—babies crying in the midst of it all, their agitated faces blotched red with fury and frustration, wanting attention, needing more—and he just wanted it all to stop, even if it meant killing what was left, if he could only have peace for a moment—

More often than not nowadays, he often found himself walking out of his room and standing guard in front of Mr. Piccolo’s, gripping his sword tightly in one hand. On most nights, he ignored Sojiro’s presence, meditating as he pleased. It was only on rare occasions that Mr. Piccolo opened the door for him, usually with a curt question like, “_Why aren’t you sleeping yet, kid_?” And on those nights, Sojiro would smile and say, “_I’m sorry, I’m used to guarding during the night-shift_.” A lie, but it was a partially truthful one. Mr. Piccolo would grunt and turn right back around, closing the door in Sojiro’s face, and Sojiro would lean against it for the rest of the night, watching the sky twinkle from barren panes. Today seemed to be different.

When Sojiro leaned against the wall adjacent to Mr. Piccolo’s room, his captor almost immediately opened the door for him. His slender fingers drummed impatiently on his forearm as Sojiro quizzically observed him for a few minutes.

“Well? Are you waiting for an invitation?”

“Oh! Well then, please excuse me.” He got up, patted his backside, and walked into a spacious and decidedly bland and desolate living quarters. He found that it suited Mr. Piccolo just fine; he couldn’t imagine him sitting in the midst of an elegantly decorated room.

“Did something happen?”

“I can’t concentrate with you outside. Go make yourself comfortable over there.”

Sojiro’s eyes lit a bit teasingly, glancing at the bed in the corner. “Are you asking to sleep with me, Mr. Piccolo?”

Mr. Piccolo glare was so piercing that Sojiro backed away from the entrance and placed his hands in the air, an appeasing gesture.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry; it was a joke.” He laughed involuntarily and slid on the mattress, his legs dangling over the edge. Silence filled the atmosphere, a near-stifling gallon of water that sat heavily on the both of them, if Mr. Piccolo’s hunched shoulders were any indication. When Sojiro used to visit Mr. Piccolo’s room in the first few weeks of his stay on the Lookout, they were fleeting visits, no more than ten or twenty minutes at a time. Any longer than that, and Mr. Piccolo would kick him out. But this was different; he wasn’t here to purposefully pester his kidnapper with trivial stories of his fruitless journey, he was here because he was in a position of weakness. That small distinction made all the difference in the world.

Sojiro thought it best to cut to the chase. “What makes a person strong, Mr. Piccolo?”

“That depends on your definition of strength.”

“What is your definition then?”

The Namekian sat in the air with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He was probably preparing to meditate again. “There are different types of strength. But a truly strong person will be one of a determined mind and heart, whether they use it for evil or good.”

“So then…a person’s physical strength isn’t the deciding factor?”

“Power only amplifies what is already there. If a person has a disjointed mind, then they’ll only destroy themselves and everyone else around them.”

“So it’s okay for a person to be evil, then? As long as they are of a sound mind?”

“I never said that. If at all possible, it’s better to use your strength to protect others.”

Sojiro’s smile stiffened. He’s heard those words before, too. Protecting the weak and not killing others, that was the Battousai’s way of life. To hear something like that out of someone like Mr. Piccolo was a bit disappointing. But then again, Sojiro already knew that Mr. Piccolo was much softer than Lord Shishio could ever be, reminiscent as he felt. It was why Sojiro was here in the first place, why he stayed outside of his room for so many nights. If he were honest, he was waiting for an opportunity like this. And wasn’t this the reason why he was sent here? To find out the truth, to find his own path? Here was a second person from a completely different universe, and he was saying the exact same things that Sojiro heard back in his own country.

He always knew in his heart that he was wrong. He always knew, but…it was what he had to do to survive, wasn’t it? He hadn’t wanted to kill everyone, but they left him with no choice. And since Lord Shishio was correct, _always _correct—he saved him with his advice and empowered him with a sword to control his own destiny—it had to mean that the Battousai and Mr. Piccolo had to be mistaken somehow.

He also knew that wasn’t quite right either.

“But why should we protect the weak? Shouldn’t only the strongest survive?”

“On some planets, their people actually believe that, so I can’t say whether that’s right or wrong. But let’s put it this way: if you were in trouble and you were too weak to save yourself, wouldn’t you want someone to help you?”

And all at once, Sojiro finally understood. His eyes widened, his mind reverting back to all of those years ago, when he fought desperately for his life, running as fast as he could in the rain, hiding in small, damp spots, praying and hoping and pleading to all of the gods in the universe to protect him from his family. He remembered how clammy his hands were around the wakizashi, how his breath came out in frantic, short pants, hoping they wouldn’t hear him, wouldn’t see him. He remembered how close that man had come to him, crawling to reach the sword, perhaps hoping to piece Sojiro’s heart, and how he stabbed him in the stomach like a knife through warm butter. He remembered the screams and the roars of thunder and how empty and helpless he felt, and yet he couldn’t stop smiling because that was all he could ever do—

He felt something in his head snap.

“I see.”

So Lord Shishio hadn’t been wrong after all. It was only the fittest that survived in this world. The fittest stood on top, feeding off of those weaker than them. But Mr. Piccolo and Mr. Himura weren’t wrong either. Protecting those that couldn’t help themselves was a criteria of true strength; after all, a person couldn’t protect someone else if he was unable to protect himself. What differentiated those that helped others to survive and those that tore down others to survive was goodwill.

Lord Shishio was a man of little goodwill, having been intimate with cruelty himself. But Mr. Himura, a man just as strong—if not stronger—than Lord Shishio had enough mercy to spare someone like Sojiro. He felt remorse over all of the lives that he took in the Revolution, and he dedicated the rest of his life to help them. Lord Shishio died because he wasn’t strong enough. Mr. Himura lived because he had people to protect, and that goodwill gave him the strength to survive.

But Sojiro didn’t have any goodwill at all. He couldn’t feel any remorse for all of the people that he murdered. He wasn’t like Lord Shishio who killed out of spite and vengeance. Neither was he like Mr. Himura, a man pressed by his transgressions to never slay again. He simply took death as it came. Sure, he hadn’t killed anyone since he began his journey across Japan, but that was rather due to a lack of an impressionable presence than his own decision to keep them alive.

If a sound mind and a quantitative level of goodwill is what determined vitality, then Sojiro was dead already. And the dead had no use for morality.

Maybe it was finally time to shed his.

* * *

Shame as he was to admit it, Piccolo’s days as the guardian of Earth died hard.

After getting caught off guard after the Androids, it became a habit for him to habitually sweep over the Earth’s atmosphere in search of any abnormalities. Even worse was Majin Buu’s sudden appearance. Piccolo couldn’t see the future; with Cell, it had made sense that he couldn’t do anything beforehand, much as it embarrassed him. But with seven years of peace, he had ashamedly grown passive. Vegeta and Goku made every effort to save the Earth, even at the cost of their very lives. And maybe because of that, Piccolo became near obsessive with his searches. It was only a matter of time before he would have found that child.

Even if he hadn’t, Dende would have done a fine job of alerting him.

On that day, he was meditating on the edge of the Lookout when Dende tentatively approached him.

“Did you sense that?” A grunt was all Dende needed to keep talking. “What do you think we should do?”

Prior to his inquiry, Piccolo was already categorizing the threat all on his own. It was a human, one that wasn’t from this planet, if his clothes were any indication, and he was strong, incredibly so. Krillin, Tenshinhan, Chaotzu, and Yamcha would have been no match for him even if they all attacked him at once. But at the same time, that child wasn’t as powerful as Goku or Vegeta. He had a small leverage over Goten and Trunks at their best, even with Fusion, although he wasn’t stronger than their Super Saiyan 3 form. He was strong enough to slowly kill the entire planet if he wanted to, and weak enough that he wouldn’t immediately raise suspicion especially if he played his cards just right. He was formidable, but not unbeatable. That was, if that was his full strength.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Piccolo had answered, standing to his feet. “He hasn’t done anything yet, so as long as he doesn’t pull any funny moves, I won’t do anything. Let me know if you notice anything different while I’m out.”

He had planned to see where it would go with the kid, but that swordsman was sharper than he thought. It only took a few days for Sojiro to realize that someone was watching him despite being so far away from his camp. He knew and yet he still carried on anyways, which indicated that he was sure of his motives if nothing else. Had he had something to hide, he would have tried to kill Piccolo the moment he sensed he was there. Seeing the intrigue in his eyes further solidified Piccolo’s conclusion, but something niggled in the back of his mind.

Sojiro was a young boy, cordial, and seemed amiable enough, but there was more to him than simple pleasantries. His smile said one thing, but his eyes said another. And maybe it was because he was faintly reminded of Gohan in his youth, but he decided to take him in to investigate a little further. It was true that he thought of him as a threat, and keeping him in close proximity with himself was the perfect way to isolate him from the rest of the Earth, but besides that, there was just something about that boy that was terribly off. It wasn’t any of his business what the other humans decided to do with their lives, but that child wasn’t any other human.

If he, at any moment, lost whatever was keeping him bound and decided to annihilate the entire planet, the only ones who could stop him were Goku and Vegeta. Piccolo and Dende could send a message to them if they hadn’t died by his hand yet, but by the time Goku learned that something was wrong, a good chunk of the life on Earth would have already been destroyed. Despite this, Sojiro eventually became his weakness.

In hindsight, he was a fool to ever bare his neck to a lion, no matter how young it was.

A few nights ago, he had allowed Sojiro to reside in his room. Piccolo wasn’t the best when it came to words of comfort, but Sojiro knew that. He wanted answers, and he apparently thought that Piccolo was the perfect candidate to get them. Considering that he thought Piccolo to be similar with a megalomaniac who wanted an entire country under his iron fist—and considering that Piccolo’s predecessor wasn’t too far from that—it was understandable. But Piccolo wasn’t the same man he was ten years ago, and his response reflected that. Sojiro wasn’t satisfied with that. Or maybe he was satisfied, and he simply didn’t agree. It probably didn’t matter at this point.

Because right now, Sojiro was in his room with his sword drawn.

Piccolo sat up, observing his movements. Sojiro was completely relaxed, the back of his naked sword gently resting on his shoulder, waiting.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Sojiro smiled that spurious smile that always left nothing but distaste in Piccolo’s mouth. “I’d like to fight you, Mr. Piccolo.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“At two past midnight? Yes, you do.”

“Then here’s some motivation: if you don’t fight me now, then I’ll kill Sir Dende, Mr. Popo, and Sir Gohan before you can even lift a finger. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?” He giggled, tapping the tip of his sword twice on his shoulder. “So, what will it be?”

“You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t attack someone for no reason.”

“I wouldn’t? That’s news to me.” He tilted his head, thoughtful, and then stepped back once, his back right near the entrance of his room. “Would you like to test that?”

He didn’t. “Why do you want to fight _me_?”

“Why not? It seems like fun. And I haven’t killed anyone in a long time. Do Namekians also bleed red, or is their blood a different color? I’m curious to find out.”

“Kid—”

“So you won’t do it, then? Even knowing that Sir Gohan’s life is at risk…I wonder what his father and his wife would say if they knew that you willingly allowed their precious family member to die because you were too cowardly. Miss Videl would never forgive you, I’m sure.” His eyes wandered away, hollow and more than a little darker than usual, his lid twitching viciously, and Piccolo hissed. He would be damned if he would let some kid sixteen years his junior manipulate him into doing his bidding, but Sojiro seemed to be desperate for something. And instead of just conveying what was on his mind, he reverted to this.

“I never said that I wouldn’t. There’s a room that we can use to fight in. It’s pretty big, so we won’t have to worry about destroying anything.” He approached Sojiro, pushing him lightly out of the way, and then beckoned him to follow with a finger. Piccolo led him straight to the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. If things went wrong, then the two of them were sealed in there forever. If anything, he could always be taken from the Hyperbolic Time Chamber with a wish from the Dragon Ball.

He set the room for a year, and then he opened the door, going in first. Sojiro wasn’t the type to stab people in the back if he didn’t have to; at the same time, he expected that he would have been stabbed in the back himself. It was a gamble to go in first, but if he didn’t, then there was a chance that Sojiro wouldn’t go in either. Piccolo wasn’t sure how much he trusted him.

The two of them stood in the spacious emptiness, waiting for the other to make a move. Sojiro readied his stance, his eyes changing into something much sharper. They were the eyes of a bloodthirsty beast ready to sink its teeth into its prey.

“Are you ready? I’m not going to hold back.”

Piccolo shifted into a fighting stance.

“I expect nothing less.”

There was a tense moment of silence that was only disrupted by the sound of their breathing. Sojiro’s eyes focused on his, and Piccolo did the same. He waited for Sojiro to make the first move, but Sojiro was a trained swordsman. He bided his time, and after a long while, Piccolo ended up making the first move. He split himself into four different versions of himself, inciting surprise from his opponent, but it hadn’t lasted long. The moment that all four of them attacked, Sojiro quickly made his first move. Sojiro was at neck and neck with the four different clones of Piccolo for a few minutes, but the dynamics began to shift. It was always a weakness of Piccolo’s, his lowered strength. What he made up for in multiplicity and speed, he lost in power. But he was hoping that he could have used those clones to buy him some time to fire a smaller Beam Cannon, just strong enough to injure and disable Sojiro but not enough to fatally wound him. He couldn’t even get the chance to do that much. The scatter shots that he fired afterwards did nothing more than singe the tip of the boy’s hakama.

The clones were defeated, and what was left merged back with Piccolo. With the little strength he had left, he tried to maneuver around his opponent, but Sojiro was too fast. He was light on his feet, almost invisible at times, and his movements couldn’t be read. Every inch of ruthlessness that was in Sojiro’s eyes when they first started dried up and evaporated with the heat of their bodies, and there was nothing more than a shallow shell left. He was the same child that Piccolo had taken under his wing except for that little sliver, that fire in his eyes when Piccolo got a little too close to his sword. Throughout the duration of their fight, there were one too many moments of that happening, and Piccolo finally put two and two together. He hadn't wanted to fight Piccolo at all. He simply wanted an excuse.

After Piccolo fired another battering of scatter shots in different directions to distract him, he fired two beams from his antennas and snapped Sojiro’s sword in half.

The boy stopped and stared down at the other half of his sword, almost as if he couldn’t believe that he lost his weapon. And then he gazed at Piccolo.

“Won’t you attack? You managed to catch me off guard.”

“This battle is over,” Piccolo replied tersely. “And I don’t take to fighting those who can’t protect themselves.”

“But I’m not even injured.” He waved his arms and stretched his legs. “See? I can still keep going.” When Piccolo didn’t move, Sojiro added, “You know, if you don’t kill me now, then I’ll kill everyone outside. And you don’t want that, do you?”

“You’re in such a rush to die, aren’t you.” Piccolo stood in front of Sojiro, peering down at him. “Let me tell you something interesting. This room is isolated from every place on Earth. It’s called the Room of Spirit and Time. If you leave before time is up, you and I will be trapped in here forever.”

“Oh I see. You planned this from the very beginning.” Sojiro smiled up at him. “As expected of you, Mr. Piccolo. You’re a very shrewd man. And very altruistic too. Giving your life to save your family and friends so quickly, so easily…I’m envious of them.” His face darkened, and his lips tightened. “But you really shouldn’t spare me. I’m an awful person, you know. I’m not able to reform like you were, even if you show me mercy. I’m the type of person who would slaughter his own family members without a second thought, after all.”

“Is that supposed to persuade me?”

“I thought it might since you hold familial ties so dear.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Then what if I told you that I was heartless? I don’t particularly care for anyone else that I’ve killed.”

“That isn’t any of my concern, but you haven’t attacked anyone yet. That’s more than enough for me.”

“Then—” Sojiro’s expression became slightly agitated, his eyes changing back to how it was before. His fists clenched and relaxed at his sides. “What if I told you that I was crazy? I can’t feel anything like you or Sir Dende or Mr. Popo or anyone else, and I have no lingering attachments to anyone or anything. I could betray you at any time.”

“I knew that already,” Piccolo said, and the little bit of restraint he had finally snapped.

“Then _why_—”

“Why did I keep you alive all this time? Why did I allow you to stay so close to me? Why am I giving you a chance to redeem yourself?” Piccolo gently placed a hand on top of Sojiro’s head.

“Kid, let me ask you a question. Do you think that running away from your problems will solve anything?”

Sojiro sucked in a breath. “I…I haven’t—”

“You have. You’re running from your past mistakes because you don’t like what you see. You’re afraid of admitting to what you’ve done, so you’ve locked everything away. But this world isn’t so simple. When you make a mistake, whether or not it was the right thing to do at the time, whether or not it was justified, you must atone for it. It won’t be easy, but it’s the first step to becoming a strong. If you wish to become a strong person, then you must take responsibility for your actions. Do you have the courage to take that first step, Sojiro?”

Piccolo placed a finger under Sojiro’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet.

“Do you?”

“Ah…” Sojiro’s eyes darted to the left. “You’re quite unfair, Mr. Piccolo. Saying something like that…” He sighed, stepping back right out of Piccolo’s reach. He stared at the floor for a long time, but when he looked back up, his vision seemed to be clearer. It wasn’t the bright mirror that Piccolo was used to seeing, but it wasn’t the vicious glare of a beast either. His eyes were hard, cold, and desolate, but at the very root of his being, there was a small glimmer of hope, of warmth, of potential. For the first time, Sojiro was being completely honest with him.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if I let go,” he said. “I wasn’t lying about what I said before.”

“Don’t worry about that. That’s why I’m here,” Piccolo replied. He turned his back to Sojiro, his first sign of trust, and retreated to the living quarters of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. A few seconds passed by before he heard Sojiro shuffling alongside him.

“Mr. Piccolo, do you think that I’ll be alive and strong like you are one day?”

The fact that Sojiro hadn’t killed Popo and Dende and went to him first was a sign that he was conscientious, even if he wasn’t aware of it himself. Sojiro didn’t tell him his life story, and Piccolo wasn’t sure if he could lay his life bear in front of another person, but he had a feeling that Sojiro just needed someone to steer him in the right direction. He wouldn’t mind being that person for him. He already was invested in the child after all.

Piccolo smirked and tousled Sojiro’s hair.

“I’d bet my life on it.”

* * *

“This is the third one that you’ve missed. Are you sure you don’t want to tell them, Piccolo?”

Dende leaned over the table, attempting to get Piccolo to look at him but failing miserably. He kept his vision resolutely focused on a random part of the shrine. If Dende wanted to go to Bulma’s crazy parties, that was his business, but Piccolo wanted no part of it. He usually only ever came for Gohan’s sake, but since Gohan and Videl were going away on a vacation, there was no reason for him to show up. Who was there to see?

“It’s fine.”

“Don’t be like that, Mr. Piccolo.” From the corner of his eye, Sojiro flew towards him with at least five bags in his hands. It took him no time at all to come back from East City, and Piccolo couldn’t help but feel a tad bit impressed. “I’m sure that everyone else is probably worried about you. Visiting them once in a while isn’t so bad.” He placed the bags on the table with an amicable smile, but Piccolo knew better.

“You just want to watch how miserable I’ll be with the others is what it is. Don’t think I don’t know you by now.”

“O-oh. I guess that was a bit obvious,” Sojiro sheepishly laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But don’t you think that Sir Gohan would be worried if he comes back to hear that you didn’t join another gathering of theirs?”

“They can just as easily fly up here if they really need me.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Sojiro sat beside him, placing one of the bags on his lap. “They can go to you if they have to. But if you don’t go to them every so often, they’ll think that you’re not interested in being with them anymore.”

Piccolo’s eyebrow twitched, and Sojiro’s smile widened. He got him, and he knew it. Piccolo always let his kindness get the better of him despite himself. In the end, it was what made him reluctantly go to another one of Bulma’s troublesome get-togethers with a beaming Sojiro and a placated Dende in tow. They landed on the outskirts of Capsule Corporation, and upon hearing the hollers and screams of Goten and Trunks, he felt a headache coming on. This was part of the reason why he hated coming to these things.

He landed, and besides a few standard greetings and a few relieved glances, no one really said anything to him as expected.

Until they saw who accompanied him.

It started with Krillin. He moseyed right up to Piccolo and started a conversation that both of them knew was nothing more than an excuse to gawk at Sojiro, who was openly staring back with curiosity. But the katana on Sojiro’s hip and his lingering smile quickly made Krillin uncomfortable, and he hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes before he made some pathetic excuse to end his venture prematurely. But he didn’t need to stay long, because Yamcha and Puar came not too after, and unlike Krillin, Yamcha wasn’t afraid to approach Sojiro. Thankfully, Sojiro was much more of a social animal than he was, and Piccolo allowed himself to blend in the background.

Of course, comforts like that never lasted.

Goten and Trunks finally came running over to see the person who everyone else seemed to have an ephemeral fascination with, and they battered him with questions. Once they saw that Sojiro was standing right there, they discarded him and raced over to his side, bouncing and cooing at his clothes and the katana that they seemed insistent on holding. He wouldn’t let them hold it, much to their disappointment, but they quickly got over it when Sojiro agreed to teach them a bit of swordsmanship. He demonstrated a few moves for them, and they were impressed enough to beg him to fight with them.

“Ah…” Sojiro glanced at him. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“We can take it! Right, Goten?”

“Yeah! So come on, please? Pretty please?”

Sojiro sighed and gave a resigned chortle. “If your parents say that it’s a good idea, then—”

“Great! Let’s ask dad!” They flew off, and Sojiro walked towards Piccolo.

“Mr. Piccolo, about those two…”

“They’re the sons of the strongest warriors on this planet. They’re more than able to take care of themselves, immature as they are.” He scrutinized Sojiro’s face, searching for any traces of what he saw almost a year ago, but when nothing was revealed besides his uncertainty, Piccolo ruffled his hair.

“Try to take it easy on them. You’ve gotten much powerful since we last fought.”

Sojiro’s eyes lit up, and his lips genuinely quirked upwards. It was the closest thing to a real smile that Piccolo had seen in a while—even though Sojiro had gotten much better than before—and he gave him a small smile of his own.

“Do you really think so?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“No, of course not.” Sojiro’s eyes warmed further, and he hid his face, lowering his head until his bangs covered his expression. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The party was quiet for a while until Goten and Trunks came racing back with Goku behind them and Vegeta following from a distance. Sojiro left his side, his mirror stuck back in place, and he greeted Goku briefly before following the two children to a vacant portion of Bulma’s backyard. Word had gotten around that Goten and Trunks were fighting with Sojiro, and by the time they finished warming up, everyone’s eyes were on them. They watched attentively as Goten and Trunks kicked and punched Sojiro, but he had no blind spots, and the two boys began to grow frustrated.

From the sidelines, everyone began to cheer them on, and they got more pumped up, powering up to Super Saiyan and attacking even more viciously. It would take more than that to defeat Sojiro, but it surprised him enough for that switch in the back of his head to snap. His eyes changed, and he flipped the blade of his sword. He swung his arm instinctively, and Piccolo immediately locked eyes with him.

“_Sojiro_.”

At once, the child froze, his sword still midway in the air, and he paused long enough for Goten to send a kick into his stomach. When he finally got up, he shook himself off and hoarsely declared Goten and Trunks victorious, much to their excitement. They gave each other a high-five, and Bulma and Chichi lathered them with needless praises. In due time, Sojiro’s mirror settled back in place. It only cracked a little when Piccolo stood by his side.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Piccolo,” he mumbled quietly. “It was an accident—I mean, I know that’s no excuse.”

“No, you did well,” Piccolo replied. “You held back just like I asked you to.”

“But—”

“If you’re upset about what happened, then become stronger. You have passed this test, but you passed it with my assistance. There may be a day where I won’t be there to stop you. Do you understand?”

Sojiro nodded, and Piccolo patted his head once more before leaving his side. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to get very far because everyone began to crowd the two of them, offering congratulations and praises to Sojiro’s strength. Bulma was in the midst of it all, and her interest shone the brightest. She asked Sojiro the one question that he was sure plagued all of their minds.

“So, where did you come from?”

“I appeared right out of thin air,” Sojiro cheerfully replied, smiling. If Piccolo didn’t know Sojiro any better, he would have never known that just a few seconds ago, his face crumpled from the guilt of almost killing yet another person. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Piccolo?”

Everyone’s eyes turned expectantly to Piccolo, waiting for some sort of explanation, but he only let out a terse grunt. The fight between the two Saiyans and Sojiro proved to be a vibrant conversation starter, and all of the intrigue that people had was rekindled with that one short battle. He had no desire to feed their pointless curiosity even further.

“Okay, but where were you before this? I mean, I’ve never seen a sword like that…” Her eyes trailed to the once broken katana that Popo volunteered to fix.

Sojiro seemed to summon the patience and enthusiasm that Piccolo currently lacked, because he answered the majority of their questions, telling them about his time in Japan, what Japan was like, and how his desire to see the world landed him here. It was the same story that Sojiro initially fed to him, and Piccolo couldn’t hold back an amused snort if he tried.

A few torturous hours passed, and the three of them eventually left at dusk. They returned to the Lookout with a month’s worth of unnecessary supplies, all of them mainly for Sojiro. Like many of them, Sojiro had quickly learned that Bulma was the type of person who didn’t take no for an answer. She threatened to give him even more if he didn't take what she offered, and after he reluctantly received it, she patted his shoulder and extended an invitation to visit them again.

That night, Sojiro had walked into his room unannounced, an annoying habit that Piccolo has been letting slide for far too long. He laid on the bed, staring at the stars above, what he usually did whenever he stayed in Piccolo's room. Why Sojiro stayed with him when he had a perfectly good room a few doors away was unknown to him, but it wouldn't take much speculation to figure it out.

“Do you think about your old planet?”

Sojiro’s eyes shifted to his.

“Sometimes. It would be nice to visit Lord Shishio’s grave, if he had one. Maybe I could visit those villagers again. They were really nice people.”

Piccolo’s eyebrows knitted, his back tensing. “You could go back if you wanted to. If you gather the dragon balls, you could ask to be sent back to where you came from.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Piccolo’s face must have conveyed more than he wanted, because Sojiro laughed shortly after. “I know you aren’t. I’m alright for now.” His gaze returned to the sky, the remainder of his laugh dulling to a soft chuckle.

“There’s more that I want to see on this Earth. And everything that I need is right here. I might go back one day to visit, but for right now, I’m fine here.” He paused. “Is that alright?”

Piccolo’s eyes closed, his shoulders loosening. He didn't even know why his body became rigid like that in the first place.

“I told you that you need to learn how to make decisions on your own. If you want to stay here, then you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want.”

Sojiro smiled, his own shoulders slumping. He turned on his stomach, his eyes drooping slowly.

“I'm glad.”

And for the first time since Sojiro had stayed in the Lookout, he fell into a long, deep, peaceful slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Sojiro to be popular with old ladies for some reason lol. 
> 
> If it wasn’t evident, this takes place after the Buu saga, but before Super or GT begins. It’s all too convenient to have a god on speed-dial after all. My apologies if I flubbed up too badly.
> 
> Chou once said that if he tried, Sojiro would never get caught. Well, now he never will lol. He's in a completely different universe.
> 
> (I have a feeling that this is going to be one of those fanfictions that I'm going to be okay with now and then absolutely hate later sigh. I should have just waited another day to finish it instead of pushing myself. >.>)


End file.
